


Water Pressure

by Azure LT- (ejrtairne)



Series: I Am Stevonnie Cycle [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Existential Angst, F/M, Gen, Other, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 11:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejrtairne/pseuds/Azure%20LT-
Summary: A series of events encourages Stevonnie to stake out a claim for their own identity. Who is Stevonnie, really? What does it mean to be them?





	1. Water Pressure

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=140w51y)  
>   
> 
> 
> This narrative is set in the middle of season 5 of _Steven Universe_. Though it does not heavily rely on story elements from later seasons, it makes frequent reference to changes in the show's status quo.
> 
> Portions of the story also assume familiarity with the _Steven Universe Ongoing_ comic series, in particular issues 2-3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rough day of training. Stevonnie returns to the Temple to muse on their situation.

"Thanks, ma'am!"

Sweat had begun to pour down Stevonnie's arms, complicating their grip on the sword. This wasn't their sword, Rose's sword. This one was smaller, heavier. And it rubbed their hands all wrong. Blisters were coming.

This had been a rough session. Everything was a little off. The sword, their balance. They were starting to space out. Every breath, their reaction slowed a bit more. Stevonnie leaned on their back leg, panting, gritting their teeth against a headache that had long threatened to take hold. They couldn't stop now. Pearl was in a state of flow. It was dangerous to lose focus. And here she came, with the wind behind her.

That was some wind, actually. It drew a dampness to their eyes. The arena was some distance in the air, and the weather came quick here. Connie didn't know how this gem architecture worked. It wouldn't do much good to ask, either. Pearl would chalk it up to magic. Amethyst wouldn't know. Garnet... would be Garnet. She knew Steven wouldn't think to ask. But what was that, Clarke's law? Just because they called it magic...

Stevonnie's foot slid out from under them, just as Pearl's sword shone above their head. "Watch out!" they heard themself shout, as a clear pink shield spun into form on their outstretched arm. The saucer would stop the oncoming blade, but nothing would stop their arm below. They had no time to brace before their wrist met their jaw and their tailbone met the rough, wet floor. Before their skull met a divot in the rock.

The next seconds were an eternity. There was a thud, but no pain as yet. There was the taste of metal. The sound of wind and steel was replaced by a high-pitched whine, and somewhere in the distance the muffled panic of a lost, defective pearl. Stevonnie tried to suck in air, but it wouldn't happen. They tried to move their legs, but they might as well have been Pearl's. As darkness ate at the edge of their vision, Stevonnie found a gulping breath. And then they found pain. It was hard to know what to notice first. Their face, their back, their head, their arm. Surely something was broken?

Pearl's storm of words had begun to take on meaning. It was the tone Stevonnie heard before the sounds themselves. She was sorry, she was concerned. No, she was terrified. Mostly about her own failure, but also about their well-being. "Stevonnie," Pearl said. She used their name. That was nice. They were an actual person now. Now she said it again. Maybe it was time to figure out what was happening.

With a groan, Stevonnie turned their head. "Man, ha, ha." Wow, the pain was unbearable. This was something else. "Pearl, can we stop now?"

"Yes! Yes, Stevonnie, training is over. We're done." The panic had begun to drain from Pearl's voice, replaced by something like concern. She reached down to Stevonnie; wrapped an arm beneath their shoulders. "I'm so sorry," she said. "If only Garnet were here. I had no idea this storm was coming."

That had been quick. The arena was now a rink of mud and moss. Twice Stevonnie tried to stand, and twice their foot skidded in the muck. A shiver ran through their frame. "No, Pearl." Stevonnie had to pull away from their teacher's aid. This wasn't working. "It's not your fault. This is just... it's an off day." Oof. Roll over onto hands and knees. Nothing broken, that they could tell. Slowly, slowly push up. Their legs wobbled, but they worked. "I'm sorry I lost my focus. We'll just, we'll try again later." Ow, this really wasn't good. "It's fine."

Pearl drooped like a neglected house plant. "Oh, well. All right then. If you're sure you're all right. Let's get you back to the Temple."

Yes, that was fine by Stevonnie. It was... fine. It was all fine. There would be days like this. It wasn't Pearl. It wasn't them. It wasn't anybody. It was just being... human. Mostly. With a burst of light, they were back in Steven's house. It was warm there, always so cozy. Maybe because it was so small. It was almost a cabin, really, built into the bedrock. Just the one split-level room, plus the bathroom. With plumbing. Hot water. Probably iodine. Steven didn't know. Connie had no clue what she'd find in there, but she knew what to look for. They were both too tired to be of help. Stevonnie had nothing to go on but instinct.

"Wow, Stevonnie! Looking sharp!" Amethyst's voice crackled from the kitchen. "Some people pay a fortune for a mud bath. But I've got my own tricks." A flash of light, and a small violet pig began to circle the room. "Wee, wee!" Amethyst shouted. "I'mma ham it up in here! Hey, Pearl! Bring me back out there! I'm bacon you! Haw, haw!"

Stevonnie took the deflection, and trudged toward the bathroom mirror. The face that looked back—it was still so unfamiliar, under its half-lowered eyes, its smears of grime and... was that blood? It was them, but they were still unsure what that meant. Stevonnie was becoming more of their own person. They weren't just Steven and they weren't just Connie. Often as not, those two weren't around, not really. Not consciously. Like now. They became sort of... abstract. Like they fell asleep, or faded. And Stevonnie was Stevonnie. Whoever that was. It was hard to think about now. Priority one: check for injury. Priority two: get cleaned up. Priority three: get some rest. They were ready for this day to be over.

The next few minutes were on auto-pilot. Washing their face and hands. Checking for scrapes, for bruises. Nothing clearly broken. They've done all this before, if not to this extent. The skin was right off their knees, and the back of their head had grown less of a goose egg than the ovum of a mythical Gem beast. How did that work, anyway? That was the Connie part of them thinking, Stevonnie guessed. If Gems didn't reproduce, why did all of these Gem monsters have eggs, or babies? And where did these memories come from? Was this Connie's reasoning and Steven's experiences? Ouch, their spine.

Their mind wandered as their hands searched behind the mirror. No Mercurochrome. No iodine. No peroxide. What kind of a medicine cabinet was this, anyway? They knew gems didn't get injured like that, but what about Steven? Then they remembered—Connie's eyes. Steven had fixed her eyes. And they were part Steven. Stevonnie blinked at the bruise on their forearm, where they'd held Rose's shield. It was large, and purple. By tomorrow it would be angry enough to keep them from holding a pen, let alone a sword. What would their mother say?

Stevonnie licked their opposite thumb, and rubbed it on the bruise. Where they rubbed, the skin glistened and the discoloration swept away like so much chalk on a blackboard. It was really as easy as that. Just like a mother kissing a scrape. Except theirs, theirs always knew the right thing to do. The reasonable Dr. Maheswaran. Never catch her rubbing her spit into a patient's wound. Not like other mothers. Not like her. Not like... their other mother. Probably.

Mom. Not like... Mom.

Rose-Mom. Not, er, Priyanka-Mom. Doctor Mom. It made sense, really. Probably.

With a sigh, Stevonnie eased out of their torn training gear and into the shower. What would they even do about all of that? Steven could sew. Probably. They knew Dad taught him, and they thought they could still remember. It's just the knots they weren't sure about. The water was tepid, but felt like a volcano. They hadn't realized how much of a chill they'd caught out there. They leaned their forehead against the porcelain tile and let out a long, low groan, as the lukewarm spray threatened to scald their shoulders.

Dirt, mud, drizzled into the drain, leaving flecks, like coffee grounds. Like a sketch of charcoal on art paper. They'd have to scrub this bathroom down when they were done. Steven had never once done that, but for Connie it was second nature. They figured he'd learn, if just by osmosis. Eventually. Once they were done with this water. Done with this groaning. All of that pressure, bottled up. Let it out, with their voice. That's right. That's better. They could lick their wounds, but they couldn't lick the inside of their brain. Ugh. Ugh to all of this. It was worth it, though, right? Today was terrible. But. They were learning. They could do this. They knew Connie was good. They were so proud of her. And they were Connie too.

Who was paying for this water? For this heat? Actually, how did the Gems pay for anything? How did Steven always have a full kitchen? There are so many questions they knew he never asked, and it was beginning to annoy them. This was pretty basic stuff. They sighed. What would he do without them, huh? Yeah, they supposed they were right. Maybe between the two of themself they could actually get some answers. That would be a nice change.

Ugh. Maybe the hot water was running out. Maybe they were just warming up. Time to crank it further into the red. Then... just sit here for a minute. Let the heat sink in. Absorb it all. Soak it into their soul, just a little longer. Then they could stop... procrastinating. Is that what they were doing? Ugh.  _No, it's not procrastinating if you have to say ugh._   _Then it's something else._   _Yeah, you're probably right. Ha, ha. Well, whatever. I guess it's time for us to get..._

Clean.

The breath caught in Stevonnie's throat. Hang on. What was... oh, dear. "Heh, heh." They forced out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it's time for us to... wash, now. Uh."

"Yeah, so, uh, how do we do this?"

"I'm not... do you, um, want to take lead? We can just not... look, maybe?"

Stevonnie straightened their fingers and sucked air into their diaphragm. "Just breathe, Stevonnie. It's just a thought. Let's power through this. We can talk about it later. It's just a shower. We know how to shower, right? Right. We're just... me. We'll just be Stevonnie. For now. I've got this." In through the nose, out through the lips. Three. Four. Five. "Yeah. Okay. Whee. Ha, ha, ha." Automatically they found a new washcloth, they found the soap, they scrubbed, they rinsed, they internalized as little as possible. Parts that shouldn't be so familiar somehow were familiar enough to gloss over. And then they were dry, and wearing a... towel. Two towels. Because... that's all there was.

They didn't plan this very well, did they. Come to think of it, Stevonnie didn't even have any clothes of their own. How did they never think of this? Steven had spares, plenty of them, but it was hard enough just to strip the tatters of his and Connie's training clothes off of their larger frame. The thought of squeezing into a kid's blue jeans sent them into an uncontrollable cackle. It was just... the mental image.

Oh man, what a day. This is just the kicker. What on Earth were they to do here? The Gems didn't wear... clothes, as such. Well, Pearl had that tux, and there's no telling what junk Amethyst had in her room, but. Come to think of it, she did have all of Dad's, Mr., uh, Greg's, Greg-Dad's, Mr. Universe's, storage locker in there. There's no telling what he held onto.

Or maybe there was. That old sweatshirt he gave to Steven. The one from that roller coaster Empire State kept threatening to tear down. They doubted it was... clean, exactly, but it was adult-sized. And big enough, long enough, it could do as a nightshirt. Maybe.

"Look at that," they said aloud. "It's almost like a real plan. Yeah," they laughed in relief. "I make a pretty good team." They sucked in their breath. "With... me. Right."

They turned the knob, and all the warmth streamed from the bathroom door. Compared to the shower, the main house wasn't quite so snug anymore. But, it was just a short jog to the upper level. And there was that too-big sweatshirt, right where they guessed it was. And it fit exactly as it had to. As they pulled it over their head, Stevonnie stared at the glow over the water. After the sun set in the West, it took forever for the sky in the East to settle down into night. Light was a funny thing. It moved so far, so fast. It was a thing you could touch, like the Gems, and it was also energy. And it had such simple laws, yet was so hard to predict. It was so much like life itself. Maybe we were all light in the end.

It was quiet. If the Gems were here, they were in the Temple. Quiet, and dark.

"I guess I'm staying over, huh? Yeah. Does y-, does, um, does Mom... no, I guess I, we, should ca-, um, text her?"

Stevonnie sighed. "We really need to work out some shorthand, huh."

Their fingers picked at a flake of loose skin on their toe. "How do we do this? How, how do we make this work?" They swallowed. "I don't know. I think... nobody's ever asked the things we need to ask. But who do we ask?"

For a moment there was just the sound of waves, lapping, curling wetly on the sand below. "Nobody's got the answers, but that can't stop us asking. And maybe if we just keep asking, if... I keep asking, maybe I'll figure it out." Stevonnie's right hand found its way into their left, rubbing its fingers gently. "Together."

"Together," they replied.

"But... first we need to brush our teeth."

"Oh, I've got something for that! It's not mine, it's... new. I mean, it's... "

"It's mine?"

"It's ours. Mine. It's... Stevonnie's."

"Thank you, Stevonnie."

"Always thinking of you, Stevonnie."

"That's why I love you."

"I..."

"Er, I mean..."

"Yeah. I know. Ha, ha. Um..."

"Well, we'll figure it out, right?"

"How can we not? We're the best!"

"The best! We'll beat any cavity that comes our way!"

Stevonnie brushed their hair away from their eyes, and shoved to their feet. One more task before bed.

"Maybe there's a song in that."

"Maybe. What do you think rhymes with 'dentifrice'?"

"I don't know. Rent... a prince?"

"I think we can work with that."

"Always."


	2. Finding Traction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having discarded the tattered garments of their fusion, Stevonnie calls on Steven's father for aid.

"Dad! Er, Mr., um..."  _Oh heck, this again?_  Why did they never plan ahead?

"Hey, Schtoo-ball. You coming down with something?"

"No, Dad, this isn't—"  _Just breathe._  There are two of you in there. You can figure this out. "This isn't Steven. Not, well, not entirely."

"Don't follow you, bud."

"It's Stevonnie. Steven and Connie? I'm, I need to talk."

"Oh, uh." Greg's voice began to crack. "Right. I, uh. Hi. I remember when you... that's, uh, is, is this a Gem thing? You know, I don't—"

"No, Mr.—Dad, it's more practical than that. But it's kind of awkward."

"Oh, you don't say." Greg's dry laugh bought him a moment to collect himself. "Hoo boy. Well, you'd better start from the beginning. What can your old... um, what's, up? You?"

"I don't actually have any clothes."

Stevonnie could hear Greg's sweat through the speaker. "This doesn't sound like the beginning."

"I mean. Steven has his... shirts, and Connie has her own stuff at home, but we've got nothing that fits, er, me. Stevonnie is way bigger than them, and I'm not... them."

"So, when you say you don't have any clothes..." Greg was still at the starting gate.

"Yeah, that's why it's kind of awkward." Stevonnie paused. "Well, part of it."

"Okay, hold that thought. Let's get you cleared up first. Then we can talk about what else is bugging you. You're at the house, right? Just stick around. I can back the van up, and let you take whatever you need."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Hey, what am I here for?"

* * *

It had grown chilly again. Delmarva's spring was long, but it was a fraught, grumpy season. Better for the crabs than the folks who came to eat up their space. And their flesh.

Stevonnie watched a pair of stars pierce the murk of the beach as they rounded the cliff in the middle distance. How much of that van remained, anyway? It was older than either of them. Both of them. Older than Stevonnie would be, if they were...  _um_.

The carapace had to be original. For all the beating it took, Steven didn't remember the van ever needing a repaint. That logo must have been his dad's most solid investment, wherever he got it done. But everything else about the car...  _was a van a car? Was a car a van?_

"It depends on the wheelbase," Stevonnie said.

"I don't know what that means."

"Should your dad really be driving it on the beach like that?"

The van's headlights had stalled about two-thirds of the way from the cliff. The sound of an over-taxed motor carried over the hollow of approaching dawn, waking the surf of a yawning tide.

"Not like that, no." They sighed. "I guess we'd better go help him." In a motion, Stevonnie slid from Steven's upper level and through the screen door of his house. The twist in the front steps was a puzzle they navigated like so many others, subconsciously. Three bounds, footholds selected more for convenience than form or purpose, and their feet met the still-damp sand a story and a half below.

Greg continued to gun the ignition, grinding the ruts at his rear axle all the smoother and deeper. "Oh, hey, kids. You'd think I'd have the hang of this by now." He switched off the motor, and ran a palm across the back of his scalp, where he could still feel the hair. "I guess I'll have to wait for Garnet again."

"It's okay, Dad. Just stay put." Stevonnie padded to the far side of the van, knelt briefly, and lifted the rear bumper. There was a crunch, and the metal came off in their hands. "Er, um," they muttered. "I guess we should lift from the frame, huh."

"You all right back there?" Greg was more puzzled than concerned.

"Superb." Stevonnie dropped the bumper, then searched for the least sharp handhold along its former berth. "Keep your seatbelt on."

"Why, what are you—" In one motion, Stevonnie stood and wheelbarrowed the van forward several yards. "Whoa, man." Greg mopped his brow. "You don't get that from my side of the family."

"Try it now," Stevonnie said. "Take it slow."

Greg turned the ignition, and crawled the van to the foot of the dune by the Temple. He pulled around in a wide U, before resting just feet from the stairs he'd built not so many years ago.

Stevonnie caught up with the van as Greg slid out the driver-side door. With both hands they presented a long strip of chromed steel, shoulders slightly bowed. "Sorry about your bumper, Mr. Universe."

"What?" Greg flinched, then abruptly waved his hand side to side. "No, hey, that's fine. It does that. Or, I'm sure it would, sometimes. Don't worry about it." He sighed, then continued to rub that spot on his scalp. "Just, throw it in the back. I'll deal with it later. Er. Not on the clothes, though. Here, hang on." He opened the rear doors, and leaned forward to shove his scattered wardrobe to one side, clearing space for Stevonnie to rest the discarded bumper. "Just take your time. I never wear most of that mess anyway. I'm not sure where some of it came from."

Stevonnie slid in, while Greg strolled to the encroaching waterline and peered at the morning glow that had enveloped the eastern horizon. It was hard to see in the van, but Steven knew his way and understood his father's system, such as it was. They weren't in this to be picky; there had to be a pair of jogging pants back here. And yet, as they rummaged through Greg's sartorial menagerie, Stevonnie felt a compulsion. Somewhere between Connie's rigor and Steven's awe, they felt a need to see this task through. Do it right. As right as they could. There was so much back here; so much odd, and hard to label. Stevonnie lost a sense of time as they sorted through, weighed, measured, and judged each article in turn, then in pair or contrast. This drive, it was new. Steven just wore the one thing he liked; Connie stuck with what was practical. Where did this need come from?

"You all set in there? It's been a while." Greg's voice punctured their focus.

He was right; enough of the morning had passed that they could actually see their piles, make out one color from the next. This wasn't fair on him; they had to pick something. At least now they had a good sense of their options. "Yeah, hang on," they replied. "Be right out."

Stevonnie soon emerged in the niftiest of the practical. Probably. Black sleeveless tee. Turquoise parachute pants with a floral design, sort of Persian. A matching turquoise scrunchie to dam their waterfall of curls. They had debated a red pair of high tops with white stars, but, their feet.  _Yikes. Were they always that big?_  That would take some more thought. As they turned to scooch out, they spotted a bronze medallion on a black silken cord. It looked like a sand dollar. On the back was fine print from a Beach City tourist trap, partially scratched away from wear. It reminded them of their, Rose's, shield. There was their star, then. Sort of. Port-a-star. Sun on a string.

"Wow, parachute pants, huh?" Greg hooked his thumbs through the straps of his undershirt, in place of suspenders. "I can't touch that." A thought caused him to grimace and avert his gaze for a moment. "Can't believe I held onto those. I thought for sure this only went back to flannel."

"Whatever they are, I think they're great. Thank you so much, Mr. Uni-, um, agh." Stevonnie winced and clawed their hair, on reflex. "Sorry. I'm, we're not sure how all this works yet."

Greg laughed nervously. "Well, that makes two of us. Er. More or less." He went to sit on the rear bumper, then glanced between where it should have been and where it was, before resting himself on the crest of the van's doorway. "So tell me, what's going on with you two? I don't mind, but I'm not used to getting calls like this."

Stevonnie clutched one arm, and looked at their feet. "I don't know. Everything's still new, you know? I don't always know how I should feel."

"Stev-, Stevonnie?" He was trying. "Stevonnie, I don't know if anyone  _should_  feel anything. You feel the way you feel, and no one can tell you that's wrong. It's just the things you do that you need to watch out for."

They inhaled and slid next to Greg on the edge. In the nose, out the mouth. Hoo. "I guess I feel kind of, I don't know, taken for granted? Like, I'm always here when they want me, but they never ask me what I really want."

"Who, the Gems?" Greg put his hand on Stevonnie's shoulder. "Steven, I know they—"

Reflexively they shrugged off the touch. "I'm—" Where was this burst of annoyance coming from?  _No, that's not fair. Reel it in._  "No, not the gems. I mean, me. Us. Them." They searched Greg's blank eyes. "Steven, and Connie."

Up went Greg's hand, to his hairline. "Oh, er. So this is a fusion thing, huh? I, uh, ha, ha." He cleared his throat. "Have you talked to Garnet?"

"No," Stevonnie said. "I'm not sure if she'd... We're not, I'm not—" They stared into space, eyes out of focus somewhere around the front steps. "I mean, I have a gem,  _Steven_  has a gem, but Gems, they don't really..." They trailed off.

Greg let the air speak a moment. "I think I got you." He sighed. "Yeah, this is tough. I guess it's new ground for everyone."

They nodded. "I guess so. It's..." Stevonnie turned over their hands, flexed the fingers, watched the skin as it moved along the joints. "When you fuse, you're not just two people. I mean, they're in there. They're here now, sort of. But also, I'm just... me." They pressed their thumb into their opposite palm, hard, then watched as the mark faded. White, to... brownish pink. "The more we do this, the more stable we get. The more, the more I—"  _Keep breathing, Stevonnie._ "The more we, I guess, find myself?"

"I guess most fusions don't last this long, huh?" Greg was quietly scrambling, but this almost made sense.

"No, I don't think so. But, I think it's more. It's also that... well, I am human. Kind of." They swallowed. "Mostly."

"I see."

"Gems, they don't have to, to  _do_  things." Stevonnie began to gesture. "They don't have to get dressed. They don't have to sleep, or eat, or, or—" It was starting to come out now. "All they do is they fuse, and that's what they are. And maybe it sucks. Maybe they're no good together. Or maybe they're like Garnet. But I'm not just a—" They clenched their fingers, and found that place.  _It's okay to feel. It's just a thought._  "Sometimes it can get weird, us being together like this. But that's okay."

"But not entirely?"

Stevonnie slumped against the wall of the van, and pulled their knees in close. "I am what they are when they think together. Kind of. But, I'm not just that. I'm..." What were even the words for this? "I don't  _want_  to be weird."

"Hey, I'm okay with weird." Greg jabbed his thumb at his chest. "You forget who I, er..." He began to blush. "... would have married, if she were... a real person, I guess." He shook his head at a logic he hadn't previously run over. "Wait, hang on."

They wanted to laugh, but. "Sometimes I, I don't want to have to run everything by them. I mean, I know I  _am_  them, and I don't want to make this all about me, but I'm—" Finally she turned to him. "I'm tired of just being all about  _them_. If they're going to be me, then I need to do what's best for me." They felt on the verge of tears. "I'm so happy to be me. I'm so happy to be here, that I cling to every moment, hoping that it'll never end. But I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm meant to be, or do. And I don't want to just... sit here and wait for them to tell me. Because I don't think they  _know_  what I need. Every time I try to do something for myself, I..." They hesitated. "I feel like they hold me back."

"Man, that sounds rough." Greg turned more fully toward the strange figure beside him. "Have you talked to Steven and Connie about this?"

Stevonnie sniffed, and searched the corner of their eye. "I guess I'm kind of doing it now." They shrugged. "I mean. It's early. I think they're both kind of asleep right now, but they'll remember everything I say and do."

"Stevonnie," Greg gritted his teeth. Did he really want to know? "Can I ask you, what happened to the clothes you were wearing?"

"They were kind of a mess." Stevonnie shrugged again. "And then I couldn't get them back on if I tried."

"What about Steven's clothes? I know he's got spares. I'm sure he'd let Connie borrow what she needed."

"I'm... I, I don't know." Stevonnie began to turn crimson. " _They_  weren't there at the time. And, I was already, the clothes were..."

Greg nodded, and exhaled. Got it. Okay. "I think, and what do I know; I'm just a dad. But, Stevonnie, if you do what's best for you, I think you're doing what's best for them. I think they need to trust that you know yourself better than they do." He sucked his teeth. There was more here, he knew. "You are them, right? Well. Well, relationships are hard, and they need to keep moving. You can't just expect that they're going to be there and work the way you want them to."

"But I  _don't_  know myself." Stevonnie objected. "I don't know what I want. I don't know what I need."

"And that's okay." Greg smiled at them. "That's kind of how it works. I mean, look how old I am. You think I know what I'm doing? This is my  _house_ , we're sitting in." He waved his arm dramatically at the piles of clothes and debris behind them. "I never expected to have a conversation like this. But, I just try to listen to myself. Do what seems right. And if it's not, then—" There's that patch of scalp. "Well, we're only human, right?"

Stevonnie smiled back, a screwy smile. "Well..." they scratched their chin. "Seven-eighths human, to be precise. But I suppose we can round up."

"Hey, now." Greg raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't  _counting_  on math jokes."

Finger guns from both; in unison: "Eyyyy..."

Stevonnie flopped their cheeks forward to rest on their recently-healed knees.

"Seriously, though." Greg held up a palm. "You're still young. Both of you. Er,  _all_  of you. It's okay not to know who you are, or what you are, or, I guess, what you are to each other. And it's okay to want to figure that out. All you can do is be honest with yourself, and then whatever happens or whatever doesn't, it'll be for the right reasons."

Stevonnie rubbed their eye on the back of a wrist, exhaled, and leaned in for a hug. "Thanks, Dad. I'm..." They tensed. "It's okay if I call you Dad, right?"

"I mean." Greg pulled back. "You wouldn't be more than half wrong." Unsure if that landed (Was there anything to land? Oy.), "I'm your dad if you want me to be. I'm here for you either way, kid." A light jab to the arm. "And don't let those two grunions pull you down. You be you. Why don't you go out, buy your own wardrobe?" A fumble with his hip pocket. How do you remove a wallet when you're sitting down? "Have some fun. Show 'em how special you are."

"No, Mr., er, Dad, we couldn't impose."

Greg shrugged. "Ih, what do I care? I'm rich. Anyway," extending a wad of random, uncounted bills, "you're my kid. Rounding up. What am I supposed to do?"

Stevonnie grinned, weakly. "Whatever's best for you," they said.

Greg patted their shoulder, then shoved off to the sand below. "Now don't go too far. I want to make sure I can drive on out of here."


	3. Breakfast Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a wad of cash and a lift in spirit, Stevonnie heads out for some quality me-time. First concern: their stomach.

"Wait, did your, my, Dad just set us up on a date? With... me?"

Stevonnie had been still since they waved Greg off down the beach. The gulls were awake, and had been swooping in drunken arcs by the shore to purposes of their own. The tide had risen nearly to the rocky promontory that housed the Crystal Temple and lent stature to the City's long disused lighthouse. Another moment, and the waves would start to dance and tease along Stevonnie's bare feet.

"I guess, yeah, kinda?" Their laugh was more of a memory to breathe. "Is that okay?"

"Yes." They hesitated, then straightened their back. "I mean,  _yes_ , of course. Obviously. This is great. I was just, you know, thinking out loud."

Ahead, a blue crab had found something in the dampened sand. Its pincers thrusted and snapped at the hollow they'd dug. Whatever it wanted, the prize just kept evading its grasp.

"I mean, it's not a formal date. Not like last time."

"Oh my gosh. You mean... "

"Yeah. Poor Kiki." They had been so caught up in the glamour of the ritual, they hadn't counted on the purpose of these displays, or what tends to come next.

"We didn't, we didn't mean to..."

"No, but that was pretty bad. She was really excited, I think. And we just—we didn't know what we were doing, and it made us fall apart." Stevonnie grimaced. "But," they inhaled, "that's not what this is."

"No. Right. Today it's just us. Me. Some quality me-time."

"Yeah! Stevonnie. On the town. No plans. No plans!" A dramatic pose, fist raised in defiance to the indifferent gulls above. The drama continued. "Just one wild fusion, in a world with  _no rules_."

Their grip loosened as their eyes swam in thought. "If there are no rules, I don't know how we'd define 'wild'—but I do believe I accept the premise."

Up with the other fist. "Then, onward! For Stevonnie!"

" _For Stevonnie!_ " A stomp to bring their feet in line left a crater and a cloud of fine sand, to swirl in the breeze. The gulls squawked and darted from view. The crab was nowhere to be seen.

Muffled from the house above, the sandpaper voice of a small violet Gem: "Stevonnie! Woo!"

* * *

"So where to first, Stevonnie?" As if in answer, they winced as their stomach turned over with a gurgle. "Sounds like breakfast, then. Shall we make this a romantic waffle for one?  _Hey, now_ ," they pinched their arm, "let's not overplay our hand."

As they talked, a man walking a large poodle craned to watch them pass. Right, they were doing this in public again. "Maybe we'd better let Stevonnie drive," they whispered. "We'll be here if we're needed." They nodded, and began to rub where they'd pinched a moment before. "Right, yes. Let's not overthink. So, what does Stevonnie want?"

Beach City wasn't much of a city, really. Most of its business crowded the boardwalk and the foot of Lighthouse Hill. There were outlying areas, but those were a trek by foot. That scale left a gourmet somewhat taxed for choice. Stevonnie scanned the options as they arose. "Could always go for a cruller, but the Big Donut has been...  _different_ , since Mr. Dewey took over." They could see the pink face of the former mayor pressed against the glass of the door, his eyes imploring all passers-by.

The boardwalk showed more promise. As they browsed, Stevonnie continued to mutter aloud despite themself. "There's Peedee's truck, but... no, hash browns aren't very filling. But, oh! We said waffle earlier. The Asdoughlogy stand flips a mean iron. And by  _mean_ , I mean it's got claws! Ha, ha, ha!" Stevonnie rocked on their back foot as they laughed. Aware of the scene they were making, they blushed and stroked their neck to calm down. Well, this was going to be what it was. It was fine. They sighed, with a grin.

"So, er, yeah. Their waffle's great. It was supposed to look like a crab, but no one wanted to buy Cancer Cakes, so now they just add chili powder and tell people it's a scorpion. Bu-u-ut, if I'm in here I wager Stevonnie already knows this." They nodded. "Yeah, we do. But thanks."

The Asdoughlogy stand, though, was dark and still. A sign on the window showed its business hours. "Whaaaat? Who wants a waffle after two? Unless you work the night shift." Stevonnie deflated against the counter, their stomach gurgling all the louder. "And I was getting pumped to try a Scorpi-Jack again, with this tongue."  _I wonder if things taste any different as Stevonnie._  "I kind of hope so. That would be weird. A good weird."

"If I may interject," they said, "there's never a bad time for pizza."

Stevonnie snapped their fingers. "You may interject, and you are correct." It was more process-of-elimination than a leap of brilliance, but Stevonnie was satisfied enough with the team effort to drift toward Fish Stew Pizza in silence, oblivious to their surroundings.

The bell signaled their entrance and Stevonnie shifted gears, addressing the supporting chorus in their head. "If  _I'm_  going to do pizza, I want something new. Something we've never tried before."

"Oh, hey,  _Stevonnie_!" Jenny lit up as they approached. A wry grin creased her left cheek. "Kiki, your friend is here."

Stevonnie's hand found the back of their head, to stroke their scalp. Oh, right. Fish Stew. This lack of foresight was becoming a pattern.

"Stevonnie!" Kiki's head sprang from the kitchen doorway. "Hey, it's been forever! I..." She blushed. "I didn't know how to call you. Where you been?"

They began to sweat. "Wow, yeah. I guess it  _has_  been a while. We, I've been, uh, here and there."

Kiki drifted up past the counter. "That movie you wanted to see? I don't think it's even playing now—but hey, I'm sure we can find something else!"

"Oh, right. Sure!" Stevonnie took a step back. "I know you're busy now, but definitely, we can take a look."

"I'm not that busy." Kiki grinned. "Nobody really comes in this time of day. And Jenny's not going anywhere today, is she?"

Jenny scowled, but turned away with a shrug. "Guess not."

"Ha, ha!" Wow, this was... unplanned, all right. Stevonnie cleared their throat. "Well, right now my first priority is breakfast. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure thing!"

"Is there a dish here that nobody ever orders?"

Kiki lowered her brows. "Nobody orders, huh? Besides the fish stew?"

Stevonnie grinned awkwardly. "Besides that."

"I dunno. While back, I woulda said the Mayor Dewey Special, but that's gone now. Guess I could still make it if you wanted?"

The grin grew more forced. "Uh..."

"No, wait! I got it." Kiki grew excited. "How 'bout I make you something new? I can just charge it like a Dewey."

"Really?" Stevonnie had begun to rethink breakfast. "I, er, I don't want to put you out."

"No, no!" Kiki took hold of their arms. "I been meaning to try some new ideas. I get tired of making the same eight things. You just wait!" She skittered to the kitchen before Stevonnie could respond. Meanwhile Jenny smirked up from a pad by the register. She tore off the top sheet and slid it across the counter, before leaning back and returning to her phone. "One Stevonnie Special, coming up."

"Ah, ha, ha. Thank you, Jenny."  _That brick oven sure makes it hot in here_ , Stevonnie thought. "I'll, uh, I'll just find a seat in the back."

"Mm-hmm. You do you." There was something in Jenny's voice Stevonnie chose to ignore.

In the far corner, they peered out the window and controlled their breath. "So how's the me-time going, Stevonnie?" Palms against the table. That was a little cooler. They closed their eyes and let the warmth drain out. Focused on the inaudible chatter on the radio. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm fine. I got this. I mean. We  _got_ this, right?"  _Kiki is great, actually._  "Yeah."  _I mean, what was she doing wrong?_  "Nothing. She's fine."  _Kiki just likes them, is all._  "And that's great."  _It's good to have a friend._  "Of course."  _Stevonnie just has to be,_ what? "Er."  _Brave?_  Confident? "Um."  _Honest?_

"So what do you  _do_ , Stevonnie?" Their eyes popped open. Jenny was still looking at her phone, best they could tell, shouting across the parlor.

"Do?"

"You still in school? Kiki still talks about that prom you brought her to." Jenny uncrossed her feet on the counter, then crossed the other way.

"Uh, only part-time." Stevonnie turned over their palms. It's funny how the blisters healed but the calluses remained. Some of the blisters may even have healed into calluses. "I take a few classes."

"Like in university? Cool, cool. Guess that's why you're away so much?"

"Mmm, guess so." Was Jenny always like this? Steven had mainly known her in a group, with the other cool kids. It was weird to get her on her own. Stevonnie thought of the pizza monster from Kiki's dream. The overbearing form of her twin sister, dragging her down into the slime. All the times that Steven went into Kiki's head, to chop Jenny down. Gee, they had shared a little more with Kiki than they remembered. Stevonnie didn't think he'd told Connie before now. So, now they've thought of it together, would Connie have Steven's memory, or -"

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Whoops. Forgot she was there, somehow. "I mean. I mean, yes. Sure!"

"What are you?"

There was silence. Was that the question? Stevonnie kept listening, like Jenny's stream was going to buffer soon. Was, was... that it? What did she...

"I mean, I don't get it." Finally she turned from her phone. Not fully to them, though. Only far enough to peer sideways. "I've seen you around. And whenever you're there, something weird is going on."

This was a mistake. There's nothing wrong with a hash brown. Heck, a hash brown is a perfect breakfast.

"Well, this is Beach City," Stevonnie ventured. "It's a pretty weird place, ha, ha, ha." Maybe if they just closed their eyes again it would be over.

"I'm talking weirder. Weird, like I don't  _know_  what I'm looking at." Hearing a shift in tone, Stevonnie opened their eyes. Now Jenny's phone was down, and her head and shoulders were turned toward them.

"Well, I, uh, I'm sorry I can't help you there." Stevonnie stood, sending their chair back with a scrape. "But you just reminded me of a, uh, thing. Send my apologies to Kiki. I'll come by later."

"Uh-huh." Jenny followed with her eyes as Stevonnie swiftly walked, not ran, out the door.

Clear of the restaurant, their feet picked up. And they didn't stop.


	4. A Sense of Scale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While searching for their own tastes and style, Stevonnie faces questions about boundaries, inside and out.

They went for several minutes, head down, before their breath petered out, sending their hands to their knees. "That was just  _her_ , right?" Stevonnie panted. "That wasn't us?" Could be... maybe Jenny was just guarding her sister? They did kind of, er, leave her hanging.  _Oh, no._  "Again." They bopped their brow with the heel of one palm. What was wrong with them? They'd have to make it up to Kiki. This was getting absurd.

With a groan they swiveled their head. Where was this? Mailboxes. Shade. Some kinda... residential? They hugged their chest, and propped against a wrought iron fence for support. "Today was supposed to be different," they breathed. "It was going to be  _our_  day. Why are things always so hard?" Sinuses starting to fill. Side of their hand jackhammered against the bridge of their nose. Work free an airway. "It feels so good to be  _me_. Why can't we figure this out?"

Silence. The sound of a car, idling. A few birds. Some kids in a distant kerfuffle. No thoughts. No words. No answer. Inside or out.  _"Hello?"_  They snarled. "So it's just me now? Anyone?"

"Oh, hey. I know you. Don't I?" That voice. Like Minnesota with a coastline.

They looked up. "Oh. Hey, Sadie." Right. Knew this street looked familiar. Kinda.

"Hi. You okay? I'm sorry, I—I don't remember your name." Sadie was just, planted there. Not even on the sidewalk; partway across the street. What was she doing?

Stevonnie pulled themself upright, with a grunt. "Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, just. I dunno, having a moment." They palm-heeled their eye, and plastered on a smile. "It's Stevonnie."

"Oh, hey. Stevonnie. Another 'S.' That's just, um,  _swell_. Heh." Sadie blushed, and shuffled a foot. "You sure I can't do something? Looks like a pretty big moment you got there."

"Well, er." Yeah, it was, it was Jenny. It's, we're fine. Ugh, we're just, we're fine. Reel it in. "Sadie, you, um, you live around here, right?"

"Yeah," Sadie chirped. "Just 'round the corner, there. I live with my mom. I was saving up for my own place, but, uh, money's been kinda short lately." Her palms kept rubbing the sides of her jeans, for some reason. "I've got a band, you know! That's why, uh, it'd be nice to have my own space to, um, but that's..." Her voice had trailed to a mumble.

"Do you know a good place for clothes?" At a thought, "Not, like, fancy prom stuff. Just, everyday clothes?"

"Clothes?" Sadie seemed startled. "Oh. Yeah. Well, I get most of mine at the thrift store on Buddy Lane. It's no good for socks or underwear, but, I mean, that's where I go first. It can be hard to find things in my size." The widest eyes peered Stevonnie up and down. "Looks like you might have the same problem."

Stevonnie mirrored Sadie's gaze. What did she mean?

"How tall are you, anyway? Er, if you don't mind me asking?" Did Sadie even blink?

"Me? I, uh..." What sort of question was...

Abruptly Sadie turned away. "Oh, sorry, sorry. Never mind. I didn't—"

"No, no, you're fine." And, she was. Kind of. They could deal with this. Stevonnie reached out to Sadie's shoulder, briefly, for assurance. "I guess I never thought about it." They grinned, and stood to their full height.

Sadie looked on, more confidently. "Oh yeah. You're gonna need some big-and-tall there." She paused. "Well, the tall. I'm not saying, uh, just." Silence, and a blink. "Yeah, look at that."

Stevonnie held up a hand. "Well, thanks, Sadie. I'll get out of your hair. Buddy Lane, right?"

"Yeah. Buddy." Sadie returned the gesture. "Um. Bye."

* * *

It was just a few blocks. Enough to recalibrate. Small as Beach City was, you could see how it grew and changed. A street like this must have been a rural route, or a post road. Then shops sprang up, and side streets. Old shops were torn up and replaced with new, or gutted and turned into something hip. None of this was planned, and it might come off as crowded if the community had more year-round residents.

The existential had given way to the immediate. Steven never really walked around here, so they had to pay attention. As Stevonnie scanned the signs, one hand made its way to their sternum. "You okay now?" They swallowed. "Yeah, you? I guess. We gonna hold together?" There it was, right ahead. Quaint old tourist trap sign. Looming Large, it said. With gold paint. "We have to. We're on a quest, and these are our trials. At the end," another shop door; another bell, "our final destiny."

Stevonnie was greeted with a blast of another decade's potpourri. Sadie wasn't kidding; the place was, and had, a little of everything. It was one of those old buildings, probably been there since Buddy himself. The inside wove all around odd corners, up stairs. The wallpaper made it hard to tell where the racks started and ended. There were at least a couple of floors. A bored old lady sat at the counter, reading a magazine with a half-dressed model on the front. She didn't look up. "Morning," she intoned. "You know what you need?"

"Not really," Stevonnie said, a hand on their neck. "Okay if I look around?"

"Fine by me." The lady flipped a page without moving her head or body. "Big and tall on the third floor,"

"Oh. Right." They flinched. "Er, thank you, ma'am."

"Mm-hmm."

The stairs were old and rough. They wound up through a small, dim, airless shaft, punctuated by the light from the exits. The third floor got most of the sun, and overlooked the town in three directions.

Stevonnie looked for a starting point. Men's? Women's? Sleepwear? Active wear? Business, er, casual? Turned out things weren't that organized. The racks didn't seem to distinguish gender, or even function. It was more a matter of size and general shape. Tops here, bottoms there, dresses and gowns around the corner. Figure out what fit, and you could mark out your range in chalk.

What could have been an annoyance became a shuffle of wonder, each garment so different from the last, suggesting something new they'd never considered. The range that fit them was narrow, but nearly every hanger came off the racks. Button-down shirts, blouses, slacks, skirts, jackets, suits, trackwear, swimwear, pajamas. They even had shoes: pumps, flats, brogues, hiking shoes, track, those weird five-toed things. Half the items they put aside as gifts to themself, complimenting and blushing all the way.

Problem was, they couldn't actually try anything on, due to... a certain pointed omission. But Connie knew how to pinch and measure against their body. It would have taken forever, anyway. They were in there long enough as it was.

The load of merchandise was enough to make the lady put down her magazine. Aloof as she she remained, her mouth did grow noticeably more dry as she muttered off the prices and codes.

As Stevonnie gathered the bags, they weighed their level of nonchalance for one final question to the proprietor.

"Sorry, ma'am," they cleared their throat, "we were wondering if you could direct us to our next stop?"

* * *

They couldn't perch there forever. Stevonnie's legs were growing numb, but they were too nervous to shift them. They'd been in the women's department of the Nicole's for an age, regarding the undergarment displays with a face like burning coal.

"Well, I mean, we gotta, right? Right. Of course. This is for Stevonnie. It's not about us. Except that, you know,  _um_." They tittered. "Yeah. Well. Whee."

"I mean. We don't have to do it  _here_."

"Right. Because Stevonnie is both of us. So."

"So we got options. Whatever Stevonnie wants. Whatever works for Stevonnie."

"No judgment."

"Of course not."

"These are pretty, though."

"That... is true."

"And, um, I kinda want to avoid cartoon characters. If that's okay."

"Roger that." They nodded.

"So." A dramatic pause. "You ready?"

They exhaled deeply, and swept their hands to both sides. "Right. Time to get serious."

This was a new realm, actually. It was hard to determine fitting, and the terminology went over everyone's head. Try as they might to leave Stevonnie to their whim, each decision became a puzzle where all input was needed. When the shoe dropped on "cup size," Stevonnie nearly toppled a rack of knee-high stockings in merriment. As the tension eased, the process developed into an exercise of the absurd.

With a gasp they lifted a comically ornate lace brassiere, then switched hands as they whirled a full circle to show it to themself. "Why, Stevonnie," they huffed, "how very intimate."

"Only the finest for my Stevonnie," they replied with the deepest gravity. Followed by a giggle.

"To be fair," they mused, "It is hard to imagine being more intimate than us." A hand went to stroke their gem, beneath the T-shirt. "All those days marooned on an alien moon? Sharing a digestive system?"

"Eww. Ah ha ha, okay! Let's move on, please!" They began to sweat.

"Oh come on now," they purred. "If it's good enough for Dogcopter..."

"Okay, really not feeling this right now."

"Um," sprang a voice, "you finding everything okay?"

Stevonnie leapt and spun; a clerk in a maroon shirt and name tag—"Amber"—stood mid-pace, inches away in the main promenade.

"Yes!" Stevonnie squeaked. "I, uh, we're just peachy! Just like a peach. Over here. With, with all the underwear. Ha, ha!"

The clerk blinked a few times. "Okay, uh, well, let me know if you need anything."

Stevonnie grinned and nodded as Amber shuffled around the corner, then slid down a full-length mirror into a crumple behind the silk and satin teddies. "Uck. So, um," they murmured, "we good here? We got everything? Yeah, I, um. Uh. Socks. Gotta get socks. Yeah. Socks. That's good. Socks are fun. Sure. And practical. We could even do cartoon characters. They work on, uh, socks." They coughed dryly. Getting thirsty. "Then... we can go? Yeah. Yeah, let's, uh, let's go."

* * *

It was getting hard to carry the day's haul. Not the weight of the bags; just the logic. They weren't used to such extensive shopping trips, and it hadn't struck them how much work it would be to tote their prizes home. Home being, where, Steven's house? Small as it was? Well, presumably. What was the alternative? Mom wasn't ready for Stevonnie yet. If she ever would be. They'd figure it out, like anything else.

They were sundowning. Whatever energy that last task had inspired, they had spent with interest. Just lifting their feet was becoming an issue. Then an unnoticed ache in their stomach popped, and the organ turned over again with an angry squelch. They dropped their bags and groaned.

"Oh, man." The whole day returned to Stevonnie. "Breakfast. So what do we do about that? What time even is it?" They peered at the sky. "Well. By the position of the sun and the length of the shadows, looks like mid-afternoon. Two, three?" They went to rub their belly and found their gem; wound up absently stroking that instead. "Three-thirty?" Another grumble; this one they could feel from the outside. "Right, we've got to deal with this."

It had to be close. They couldn't lug that mess much farther. Stevonnie left the bags on the sidewalk as they peered and leaned and arched their neck around. No cars on the street; they let themself stagger out to the intersection, for a better view. "There!" Around the corner, three-quarters hidden, the edge of a familiar logo. "We're going there!" With a burst of adrenaline, they threaded the bags on their two forearms and trotted back a half-block to a large renovated storefront.

"Bargain Novel?" Stevonnie knew what part of them the excitement was coming from. The other part was lagging behind a bit. "Are we going to buy... a cookbook?" They chuckled. "No, silly! Haven't you been to a bookstore before? Like, one of these big ones?"

They tapped the blue disabled button with their foot, and sidled in laterally to accommodate their load. The opened door unleashed curls of air more conducive to a meat locker. As they crossed the threshold, a chill swept across their body, raising fine hairs and goosebumps. "Uy-yike," they shuddered. "Could turn that down a bit."

A chipper clerk in suspenders moseyed up to check their bags behind the counter. They got a little slip in return. It was signed, well, "Chip! :D" Exclamation point, sideways smiley, and all. "Thank you, Chip," they giggled to the young man, now sweating despite the air. "We'll just go for a nip." He nodded, soundlessly, as Stevonnie danced to the stairwell.

The smell of baked goods and maybe a touch of ham drew them to a small cafe in the corner. They gravitated past displays of books familiar and otherwise; a cross section of the No Home Boys, some cool-looking sci-fi comics, all those scary Russell Prince novels set in idyllic yet unexpectedly sinister New England hamlets. There was a whole table for The Spirit Morph Saga, the cover art replaced by stills from the film series. They even had... toys? "We need to spend more time in bookstores," Stevonnie said. "There's something here for everybody."

"What you looking for, luv?" The barista wasn't from here. That was... kind of refreshing.

"Oh." They hadn't even looked at the menu yet. "Hi," Stevonnie said. "I'm just famished. And kind of drained. It's, um, kind of hard to know what to order."

"Can start you off easy. Give you time to decide." She was a bony woman, with her hair pulled back hard into a bun, the odd silver thread standing out against the black. Stevonnie thought of cobwebs. "Coffee might help you think. Coffee and a muffin."

Stevonnie stared at the glass, one hand on their gem. So many choices. Healthy muffins. Sweet muffins. Muffins with unpronounceable ingredients. "Banana nut," they intoned. "That's a good muffin." They shook their head, snapping out of the reverie. "Hang on, coffee?"

"What size?" The lady drew a medium cup, provisionally, and half-turned toward the espresso machine.

"Um." Stevonnie bit their lip. "Can you hang on a minute?"

"Sure, luv." She set the cup down by the machine, and set to organizing something behind the counter. "Take your time."

Stevonnie retreated to the railing overhanging the lower level of the store. For them it reached just to their thighs, lending a sense of unbalance, like one misstep could lead them to flip over and fall. That wouldn't be so bad, given their hover powers, but the thought made them dizzy. Or was that the hunger?

"Coffee, huh?" They murmured as if this were a library. "Are we gonna do this?" They sniffed; the chill was biting at their already embittered sinuses. Coffee wasn't so bad, probably. It smelled good, anyway, but. "My dad gave me a sip once, and it tasted how I imagine motor oil must be, if you're not a car." They giggled, and rested their right hand on their left. "You'd be surprised what they can do with milk and sugar and bottles of exotic syrup." Their voice dipped to a conspiratorial register. "Mother says the caffeine stunts bone growth, but I've snuck a few sips of her latte, here and there." A grin began to sweep across their face. "Exotic sugar syrup, huh?" A light snicker. "Well, I guess Stevonnie's not growing any more bones."

Several pastries, a panini, and four lattes later, Stevonnie was buzzing from one section to the next, pulling books from shelves and yammering to themself about authors, plot points, and themes just a bit out of their grasp. Before long they discovered the music section, and were baffled by the field of small plastic discs. They'd never seen so much music in one place, not physically. There were a few big records, like the ones their parents listened to, but nothing that seemed very familiar. Not that this was a problem. It was Stevonnie day! Everything was new!

They asked a roaming clerk if they knew a band nobody ever listened to, and he waved them toward a bargain bin. A few discs stood out. The Bee-Cees, Androgyna, all these acts they'd seen as full-sized records. They must have been pretty old. And hey, there was one of their dad's CDs. No price on that one. How did it even get there? At a thought, they slid the discs back in place. They'd covered a lot of ground already; maybe better leave the music for another visit.

* * *

Stevonnie sat and read and quietly chatted amongst themself, pausing only for a croissant or a tea or another flavored latte—they liked to mix the syrups; it felt extra rebellious—until the shop began to flick its lights. Outside it was gloaming, and the store was in the process to shut down.

They selected a few books they'd yet to finish, or yet to begin. As a serious biological adult, maybe, they resisted the pull of action figures and cool building sets, limiting their checkout to products of the mind. With a trade of Chip's slip, they added this extra mass to their prior mercantile burden and set off in the probable direction of the Crystal Temple.

The air was warm and still. It was going to storm again. They'd almost forgotten the climate outside of the cultured reverie of a chain bookstore. It felt nice. For hours they'd been repressing a shiver, but this was like stepping into a bath. A drop landed on their cheek. If they didn't hurry, it would be a literal bath. Not that they minded, but, well, they had stuff.

A smile sank in, carving a deep, contented recess in Stevonnie's face. "It all turned out in the end, huh." They tried to wrap their arms across their chest, but the bags made a mockery of that impulse. "Thanks for today. It's not all this," they shrugged their laden arms, "you know. That was nice of Dad, but I just liked... being out, doing things, being Stevonnie with you. And not just because we had to be, and not just by accident."

"I know. It's, uh, kinda strange we don't do this more. But, then it's kinda strange we do it at all." The smile lessened. "Hey, Stevonnie? I don't mean."

"Yeah, I know."

They gritted their teeth. "Stevonnie's great. The best. And I'm really happy they're, we're, figuring out who they are. And I want to keep working on that. But, all the things we do as Stevonnie..." they walked in silence for a moment, their cheeks growing warm. "A lot of them, I kinda wish I could just do with Connie."

Suddenly they cackled. "Like sharing a digestive system?"

"No, no!" They protested through the laughter. Stevonnie had to prop against a now-glowing lamp post to keep upright. The fact of the distress coming from the same throat as their glee was just too absurd to handle, sending them into a paroxysm of full-bodied guffaws. Tears began to stream down their face as all parts of their self came into alignment. Yeah, it was a pretty weird situation. But who cared. This was what they were. And it was good, whatever it was.

They continued to giggle as they trudged toward the beach, only occasionally needing support from a building or telephone pole. The sky was back in the state it was the previous night, when this whole predicament got started. Sooner or later they'd have to unfuse. That would be awkward, but they were sure they could handle it. It would just take a little planning, to maintain what decorum still existed for, they sniggered, two people in their situation.

It looked like there was a rave on the beach. They didn't hear any of Sour Cream's bone-rattling jams. Were they between sets, maybe? Did they miss the show? As they approached, they saw the origin of the flashing red and blue lights. And then they saw Dr. Maheswaran's sedan. The house was alight, the door framing several silhouettes. Only the one was moving, gesturing wildly. The one with the hips and the long hair.

"Oh no." It hit them. They never did contact Mother, did they. And Connie's phone, it must have been ringing all day.

A deep chuckle rasped out of the darkness. "Hey, there they are!" Amethyst was clearly at home in the chaos of whatever was happening above. "Yo, Stevonnie! You almost missed the party! Come  _on_ , this is gonna be a riot!"


	5. Another Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevonnie returns from a day of discovery, to confront the chaos they left behind.

"Hang back, guys. I got this." Stevonnie dropped the bags where they stood. "This is my fault. I'll talk to her." They put a foot forward, and caught another drop of rain on their ankle. Distracted, they extended a palm. Two, three, four syncopated taps. They took a step back, lifted the bags, and continued down the beach toward the steps.

They passed several shades of officers, all lit on one side by strobes of red and blue, their presence signaled by the nonsense crackle of radio chatter. How did they ever communicate? Did they only pretend? Was it like yelling at each other over Sour Cream's mixes? Maybe this  _was_  a party, for them. Maybe this is what they did. Stevonnie felt like a spectre themself, passing through the gauntlet unacknowledged, soundless but the flit of skin on the still-damp sand. Soon to be damper still. Thinking back, they were surprised they could even find shoes in their size.

Every step was an individual dream. They reached the stairs in a day. The ascent was unreal. Like they were living a memory of a movie they'd forgotten. And they couldn't remember what happened next. As they approached the screen door, the inside sound carried in pair with the light. It was their mother, still talking. Still up there, in that register she got into. For once it didn't grate on them. It didn't make them anxious. Not too anxious. Not as much. It just made them feel for her. This time, they got it. How many times did they miss it, before?

There she was, in the center of the room. The way the door framed her, it threw her shadow far down the beach; her legs turned to carnival stilts, raising her far above the crowd in a fever of expressionism.

_"... explain what her clothes were doing in your..."_

A steady breath, a creak, a slam, and the screen door was behind them. Down went the bags, again, out of the rain.

"Stevonnie!  _That's_  what I'm talkin' about. C'mere and show your mom what you got." Amethyst was sprawled on the kitchen counter, her eyes gaping to swallow the scene before her. People were upset, but not at her. They were missing pieces that she held. She was loving this.

Pearl was past her limit with these human concerns. She turned abruptly, her limbs jerking like a marionette. "Oh,  _good_ , Stevonnie! Well, now that we're all here we can put this situation behind us and go back to where we all belong!" She curtsied with her most tortured of many awful grins, and gestured toward the door.

"Now that  _who's_  here? Who  _is_  this?!" Priyanka Maheswaran was emphatic in the simplest of quarrels. If she knew a better brand of petroleum jelly, she made sure you understood why. It would, after all, be  _inefficient_  to ask her a second time. Stevonnie could see the Doctor had been up against an echo chamber for some time, a lack of a sensible answer only cranking her signal higher until it reached its current point of distortion. On another day she might  _enjoy_  a talk on acoustics. Or, what were they kidding, probably not.

Garnet rubbed an eye, causing her visor to waver. "Okay. We're done here."

"Ngah? How does this solve anything?" The green gem on the sofa flailed at the figure in the doorway.  _What?_  Oh, guh. Of all the times for Peridot to—why was she even here now? "Who's Ste- _von_ -nie?"

Amethyst galloped over to her with a guffaw. "Dude, look at them.  _Percy and Pierre_?"

"Hah?" With the visor, fully half of Peridot's face seemed to consist of eyeball. Her posture didn't help much either. "Oh." She blinked at Stevonnie, then bounced and pointed. "Oh-wo-wo-woh! Steev, Onnie! Stev-onnie! I get it now!" She cackled. In mid-cackle, she froze. "Wait. They can do that?"

Stevonnie could only rub their temples so long.  _Here, just_  - "Dr. Maheswaran, hi. I didn't, this isn't how I planned to meet you." They stepped forward, extended their right hand. "I'm Stevonnie. It's my fault Connie never called you back. I'm the reason you're here."

Priyanka reeled back on one leg. Her face suggested they might well have bitten the head off a newt. Her mouth moved, but for now sound had failed her. Stevonnie continued. "She was going to, but then I got them so wrapped up in my problems that we forgot what else was important. Or," she blushed, "I guess, I forgot what was important to  _them_."

Their mother's mouth continued to pulse, like a fish. The disgust had faded, replaced by a cycle of fear, surprise, and rage. It was all a flash, just a few eye muscles, until she found her footing. Determination it was. "Who  _are_  you?" She squared off against her new target. "Where did you go with my daughter? What did you do with her? Where  _is_  she?!"

"Mom, she's fine." Stevonnie sighed. "She's right here, looking at you."

Priyanka blinked at the figure in front of her as she processed the words they'd spoken. She swiveled her head, her shoulders. She spun around, as if searching for a hidden camera.

 _"Wuh-oh."_  Amethyst clenched her teeth. "C'mon, Peri," she hissed, tugging the smaller gem's elbow toward the Temple door. "Lemme go show you my,  _erng_ , something."

Stevonnie was still. They knew how this worked. They'd been here before. It had to play out. And they had to take it. It was right. And, well, their mom needed them. What once had been a wild animal now became a frightened house-cat. It's, it wasn't her fault.

 _"Where?!"_  Dr. Maheswaran's limbs were a shrugging tangle of claws, her face twisted to a shriek that went beyond words.

"Mom." Stevonnie rested their hand on their sternum. "She's here." They pulled a step forward. "Connie is right here."

Priyanka's arms and face both fell limp. There was no way to process this. How did these words carry meaning? What world was she in?

They squared their feet and their shoulders. This would have to be direct.  _Exhale through the mouth._  "Dr. Maheswaran, my name is Stevonnie. I'm a gem fusion." They gave their mother a moment to chew. She blinked. Her mouth moved a few times, like she was practicing the words. "Steven and Connie, they can merge their minds and their bodies." Give her another moment, but, uh, shorter. "It's a thing Gems  _do_. Like, I don't know, a computer with two processors." They held up a hand, knowing she'd cut them off. "That fusion, when they  _fuse_ , they become a whole new person. And Mom," their fingers curled as gravity took hold of their arm. "Dr. Maheswaran, that person is me." Their fists balled as their energy drained away. That was it. That was their shot. All they had left was a plea. "Mom,  _I'm Stevonnie_."

Pearl was a mannequin by the warp pad, somehow still there, her face obscured by one hand. Silently Garnet led her too to the Temple door, leaving the two earthbound figures finally alone.

"It's there in the name," they ventured. The grin was so fake it almost hurt to hold like that.

The woman before them was, to all intents, broken. There was too much going on. Too much to read. But she was tired. Tired, and sad. Sad, and confused. Their mother had always been so gorgeous, they thought. Connie grew up hoping that some day she'd look half as pretty. Not all stretched out and pointy, with her rotten eyes and her long nose. They never expected to see their mom so... old.

"Connie?"

Their heart sank. "Mom, I'm not Connie. But, Connie's right here." They could do this. They were almost there. One last push. They bent down to their mother's level—their giant, towering mother—and returned their hand to their chest. "Connie is half of me. I've got all her memories... I think. Hers and Steven's." She sighed. "And all their skills and their talents, and everything they love and hate, and all their good and bad parts." They searched Priyanka's eyes for some sign of life. "Everything they are, I am too. But," she hesitated, "I'm also, well, me."

Their mother shook her head. "I, I don't..."

" _That's_  the problem." Stevonnie turned away. "Not that I'm me. But, that I'm not just them." They hadn't planned for this. Their plans went only to the front door. Planning was... not Stevonnie's strength. That much they had learned. "I don't always..." They scrambled, then just spun to Priyanka, and spat whatever came out. "The things that matter to them, they matter to me too, but I'm  _me_. I'm not them. And those things aren't always first on my mind. I'm," they half groaned, half roared. "I can do things that neither of them could  _ever_  do by themselves, but I can't—I don't..." They bit their lip. "I don't always think like them. Either of them. And, sometimes," they implored, "sometimes I forget things I should never forget."

Stevonnie took Priyanka's limp hand between their own. Their left eye had begun to cloud over. "I was so  _fed up_  with those two, forgetting I was my own person, that for a while, I forgot that they were theirs."

Priyanka's other hand raised to their forelock, brushing aside the hair, testing their face. " _Connie?_ " She repeated.

The tears erupted, just on that one side, as they grimaced in response. The knuckles went to scoop the moisture, scrape the eye clear. "She's  _here_. Mom, I'm, I'm not her. But she's here. And I'm sorry."

As in the most inopportune moments, belatedly then, an afternoon of caffeine and steamed milk all caught up with them. Stevonnie winced, and began to shift foot to foot.

Dr. Maheswaran's hands swept from their cheekbones down to their neck. "How..."

Stevonnie was down to one leg, less hopping than shaking at the knee. "Ha-, ha-, hang on! Sorry!  _Sorrysorry_! Be right back! Sorry." They scrambled to the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. " ** _Ack!_** " they shouted as they fumbled against an unexpected deadline.

A minute, one steady groan, and a pause at the sink later, they reemerged. "I'm, yeah." They scratched their head. "We, um, had a lot of coffee today." Their mother stood with her hands over her mouth. "It was, um, a long day."

Priyanka staggered toward them, placed her hands on Stevonnie's chest, and looked up into their eyes. " _Sorry_ , Mom." The doctor turned her head and put it against their chest. On cue, they wrapped the shrunken figure in their arms.

Time evaporated. The rain fell. The police were still out there, it seemed, doing who-knows-what. Their squawk and crackle went on, somewhere beneath the gentle stroke of nature.

"What do we  _do_?" Priyanka pushed away, just enough to find Stevonnie's face again. "Can I, can I get her back?"

Stevonnie nearly melted from joy. "Yeah, we can. We can do that anytime." Their teeth found their upper lip. "You want her now?"

Priyanka nodded, more with her eyes than her neck. "Can I? Please?"

Stevonnie ran their hands down their mother's sides, and patted her hips. "Hang on. This is going to be awkward." They took a step back, then wheeled around to aim their jog at Steven's loft. Two shirts, two pairs of pants. Just... forget the underwear for now, because,  _um_. "See, the problem was," Stevonnie muttered as they dug through Steven's filing system, "the clothes I was wearing got all ripped up. And that got me to realize, they never even thought to buy me my  _own_  clothes." They glanced over their shoulder. "I mean, I'm a person too." This was ridiculous. He had, what,  _twelve_  identical shirts. Where were they all? Ah, there's the second. "So it became this whole thing, and I was just so upset at being ignored, I..." They slid to the main level, clutching the garments with both arms. "I guess I kind of took over. I never even gave her a chance to call."

Their mother nodded. It was the only muscle she moved. Her, her  _eyes_... they couldn't see her eyes like that.

"Just a minute." Stevonnie stalked to the darkened bathroom, and deposited two neat piles: side-folded jeans, with a square-folded T-shirt. One just by the door, the other in the bathtub. "You got this now, right?" Those jokers were in there, surely?  _Obviously_ , but.

"Yeah. We'll just, yeah." They breathed a moment. "Steven calls dibs on the bathtub."

"Right.  _On the count of three_."

In her daze, Dr. Maheswaran watched as the light of a pink sun burst from below and slightly around the closed door some yards before her. She could do little more than pivot on the spot. Absorb whatever was there. The light, it was rather beautiful. She'd never quite seen the like. The most neon of neons. The halo of a solar eclipse, but—without the pain. Without the scarring. It was only, beautiful. Like a warm river, that was over.

And there she was. There they were. Her, and that  _boy_. That... oh, it didn't matter.

Connie ran to her mother, allowed herself to be scooped up. "Mom. I'm so,  _so_  sorry. Are you okay?" Her mother sniffed, the one sign of resistance she'd shown in some while. Connie felt the warmth as the tears dripped and coursed down her neck. "Mom, I love you. I never wanted to scare you."

Dr. Maheswaran pulled back; rubbed the corner of each eye with one hand. "I don't know why you don't  _tell_  me these things." She took a halting breath; placed that hand on her chest. "Am I going to be seeing more of, of..." She knew the name; her jaw just wouldn't let it out.

"Stevonnie?"

"Of  _Stevonnie_ , in the future?"

Connie scratched her head. "Um, probably, yeah." She flinched. "But not like this."

"Yeah, this was, um,  _different_ ," Steven added. Seeing the mother's mouth agape—she had barely noticed him—he raised a feeble hand. "Hi, Dr. Maheswaran. Um, I'm sorry too."

The woman pursed her lips at the boy, and turned away. "Connie, I trust you to make your own decisions, but you need to let me know what you're doing. And I don't just mean that phone call."

Connie forced her eyes up to meet her mother's. She knew what those eyes were doing, and she understood why. There was nothing to fear here. Nothing for her, anyway. She wasn't the one in trouble. "Absolutely."

The taller woman nodded and placed her hand on Connie's shoulder. "Now say goodnight to your friend. We've got a lot to talk over with your father."

Connie placed a hand on her mother's side, and walked across to Steven.

"Thank you," she said.

Steven looked away and scratched his head. "Yeah, uh. Some day, huh?"

"A  _great_  day," she insisted. "No matter what happened. This was something special."

He caught her eye, and blushed. "Yeah. It, it was. It—"

She bent forward, placed a hand on his neck, and her lips across his. A moment of half-surprise, and he returned the gesture. Her head rocked down to rest on his forehead, her nose against his, and a smile curled around to a smirk. Which let out a breath, that turned to a laugh. Which turned to a snicker. Until both hands were on his shoulders, and his hands on hers, and they were in a pile, guffawing all the harder as her mother scooped her arm between, trying to pull her away.

 _"See ya later, Stevonnie!"_  she shouted over her mother's shoulder.

 _"See ya when I be ya!"_  he returned.

The laughter faded into the rain, and Steven remained on the floor, sprawled half on his side. And the world was nothing but stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to John Thyer and the Select Button crew for their input and encouragement throughout the process.
> 
> The story continues in "[Rise of the Crystal Crusader](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840819)."


End file.
